Rianne Evans vs. Drake "Domino" Vyril

[Weonna]

Rianne doesn’t even blink at the ref’s shouting.

She pushes herself up, brushing herself off with a sharp huff as Domino lies curled beside her. A crooked, defiant grin spreads across her face as she shoots the official a look.

“Oh, pack it in, will ya,”

she snaps.

“This ain’t ballet.”

The referee keeps warning her, finger wagging, voice raised—but Rianne’s already dropped back down and snatched Domino into a tight frontal headlock, yanking his head snug under her arm and hauling him just enough off the mat to keep him folded and stuck.

She cinches it in, boots planted wide, keeping him right where she wants him.

“Funny thing ‘bout mercy,”

she mutters loudly,

“—it’s for mugs who don’t finish the job.”

The ref grabs at her arm again, threatening disqualification.

Rianne laughs in her face, never loosening the hold.

“Go on then, love. Ring the bell. Or stand there an’ watch me do what I came ‘ere to do.”

She shuffles them toward center ring, still wrenching the headlock, then flicks her free hand dismissively at the ref.

“Eyes front, sweetheart. This bit’s important.”

Rianne plants her feet, tightens her grip, and squares her hips—Domino still trapped perfectly, the setup unmistakable.

“Should’ve stayed down, pretty boy.”

The crowd roars as she sets him up for her finisher: OH SNAP!

,the moment hanging heavy, ready to detonate.

OH SNAP!

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino finds himself in an infuriating predicament, in part cursing himself for thinking Rianne would ever change her tune. The audience is booing, and he'd be right there with them! If he could speak, anyway. Right now, the only thing he's feeling is frustration and panic. He can't get his legs to work yet, and it's very clear Rianne intends to make use of that.

He's pulled easily into the headlock, knees twisting together. But as she pulls up, his feet find their balance just enough to keep him upright. One hand sets to her bicep, the other hand sets to her bare waist, neither able to do much other than hold onto her. She leads him along to the center of the ring, each step a stagger. And still, Domino is unable to do anything to mount a resistance yet. For all intents and purposes, he appears to be hers; a victim in the making.

She tightens up the hold on him, her hips squared with Domino bent into the perfect position.

The audience waits with bated breath.

[Weonna]

Rianne grins when she feels his weight sag just right.

“Night-night, love.”

She suddenly drops back, snapping down hard and driving Domino head-first into the mat with OH SNAP! The special DDT lands flush, his body jolting on impact as the crowd explodes with noise—boos and gasps colliding at once.

Rianne doesn’t waste a second.

She rolls through the motion smoothly and slides over him, draping herself across his chest with deliberate confidence. One arm hooks his far leg high, pulling it tight against her hip as she presses her weight down, cheek resting against his shoulder.

The referee dives into position.

ONE!

Rianne squeezes tighter, arching just enough to keep him pinned, a smug smile on her lips.

TWO—

The count hangs there—the match balanced on a knife’s edge, Domino still trapped beneath her as the crowd roars, waiting to see if he can kick out… or if it’s over.

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino couldn't believe it came to this, that he'd be fully beaten by a rotten low blow. He was mentally urging the referee to do more about it, to stop it - but he knew she wouldn't. She's loyal to the show. To the producers, to the management. And they love this kind of thing, these brazen acts of breaking the rules. They always seem to let it slip by unpunished once. But once is all it takes. Because all Domino can do right now is hug onto Rianne's fit waist.

He feels himself pitched forward, and the moment the top of his head impacts the mat, everything blacks out.

His body is ramrod straight upside-down for a second before finally flipping over, landing in a splayed position. Rianne's body spreads over his, covering him in her feminine figure. He's only dimly aware of the impression of her body on him, equally so of his leg drawn into the air.

The referee's hand slapping the mat creates light tremors through the ring. The first one wakes him up, but he can offer no resistance. His body doesn't want to cooperate, everything is sluggish and feels heavier. But now he's more aware of the other body over his, pinning him down.

The second slap to the mat, and no change. His knee hangs bent in the air, chest rising and falling heavily beneath her, his shoulder a compliant cushion for her cheek. His lower half has started to be able to feel again, at least. It's a start. It's something.

The hand careens down towards the mat.

In desperation, Domino manages to twist over at the shoulders. His arm shoots into the air, bringing the shoulder not supporting her head off the mat. His leg remains held aloft, with Rianne still easily covering him, but the referee stops her hand millimeters from the mat.

"Two-count! No fall!"

[Weonna]

Rianne’s head snaps up the instant the count is stopped.

“WHAT?!”

Her face twists in pure disbelief as she looks from the referee to Domino.

“You ‘avin’ a laugh?! That were three!”

She pushes off him roughly, springing to her feet, arms thrown wide as the crowd roars.

“Oi! Did you see that?!”

she barks, thick Cockney venom dripping from every word.

“That mug should be out cold! You takin’ the piss or what?!”

The referee argues back, holding up two fingers. Rianne shakes her head furiously.

“Unbelievable. Absolutely bloody unbelievable.”

She turns back to Domino, rage boiling over, and starts stomping him, sharp boots thudding into his side and back.

“Stay DOWN!”
STOMP.
“Know!”
STOMP.
“When!”
STOMP.
“You’re!”
STOMP.
“BEAT!”

Finally, she backs off, pacing in a tight circle, breathing hard, jaw clenched as she plots her next move. Her eyes drop to Domino, still prone.

“Fine,”

she mutters.

“If you won’t stay down… I’ll make you beg.”

She drops back down, grabs his arms, and hauls him forward before sitting firmly on his lower back, planting her weight to keep him grounded. One hand hooks under his chin, the other securing the grip as she pulls back into a camel clutch, wrenching him upright.

“There,”

she sneers over her shoulder.

“Let’s see how tough you are when you can’t move, eh?”

The hold tightens as the crowd buzzes—Rianne grinding the pace down, furious and determined to finish this her way.

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino is having a hard time processing what's happening in the world around him at the moment. All he knew was he needed to break that pin in on an instinctual level. And hearing the referee declare no fall, he could let himself relax again to try to recuperate and recover. When she pushes off of him, there's a sense of relief - she isn't going directly for another pin. But he's left lying there on his back, dazedly shifting his limbs. One knee steeples, the opposite arm lifts to drape his forearm across his brow.

Finally, he manages to turn over onto his side and start to lift his head. He gives it a quick shake to try to focus his vision and bring the blurry faces of the crowd pressing in on the barricade. But then a crushing stomp hits his ribs, causing him to turn over. Then another stomp against his back! He twitches and spasms with each hit, arms weakly attempting to cover the targets, but with little to no avail.

The rain of boots ends with Domino facedown on the mat, sweat-slickened back glistening under the hard overhead lights. He isn't sure what she's doing, but he'll take the breather while he can get it - which isn't as long as he'd have preferred. His arms are taken, and he's pulled further into the ring before she plants her weight against his lower back. Her hands join together beneath his chin, and he suddenly finds himself pulled back, his sleek upper-body forced taut in a backwards arch. Every contour of his muscular chest and abdominals highlighted in sweat, every breath a hard and tense flex of muscle.

"Ggnnghhhh!," is the most he can get out as his expression contorts in pain, his hands pawing at her wrists.

[Weonna]

Rianne leans back into the camel clutch, keeping the pressure tight, boots dug in and weight settled hard on his lower back.

“Go on… just give it up,”

she snarls.

“Ain’t no shame in tappin’ when you’re done.”

She gives the hold a sharp wrench, tugging his chin back another inch.

“Listen to yourself—strugglin’, gaspin’… this is over, love. Stop fightin’ it.”

She stays planted, arms locked, refusing to let him slip an inch as the crowd roars, daring him to submit.

[CyanDimitrik]

The referee-girl hovers close in a crouch, one hand set to the mat to keep her balance, the other gesturing wildly to try to keep the focus on her for the question. The same, incessant question asked in a myriad of ways.

"Do you give up?"

"Tap out if you submit!"

"If it's too much, you have to tap!"

She gets to go through several of those half-concerned, half-purely professional querries. Domino is trapped in that position with Rianne, and unfortunately every party knows it. The damage he's endured compounds with the pain of the arch, especially with every twisting wrench and extra pull the blonde puts him through. His expression is written in pain, teeth bared, eyes screwed shut as he endures. The toes of hit boots kick against the mat repeatedly, choked cries bubbling up from a strained neck.

He can't stay in this position forever, and each passing second is a new reason to tap out and end the suffering. But then everything she said about him - true or not - would seem cemented to her. She'd never let him live it down. It'd haunt him, as a cannonball-sized hole in his life's work. He fought for legitimacy, he'd struggled to be taken seriously when the weight of his other career seemed to bear down on every interaction, every opportunity. Rianne stands as the physical embodiment of that weight now, of that opposition - the cosmic irony refusing to be overturned.

"Nngghh..!"

His knees shift. His arms move, leaving her wrists in favor of hooking over her thighs. It's almost like he's setting himself up for worse, to be hung with pectorals spread taut for the most titillating of LAW website covers. But the hands bite down, hooking firmly beneath her thighs. His knees squirm, attempting to work one into the mat, digging in, bracing. Then pushing to create just a small gap. He didn't need much. Just a little gap, a little space for the other knee to likewise dig in. Both pushing, he could get a little lift. Not much, again. Just enough to pull up on her legs, to disrupt the balance. Not to spill her off, no. Never to spill her off. He wants her in place. He wants her on his back. But if he can take her balance, he can push up more with the knees until.. a foot can plant on the mat. The leg can strain to begin hefting their combined weight, the other boot then joining.

And in the end, he can lift them both. Him, standing tall on his feet. Hugging her thighs close to his sides, feeling her hips snug against his back. And a sudden hop and drop back to crush her behind him on the mat in a dead drop.

[Weonna]

“Oi—what’re you doin’, you stubborn—”

Her grip tightens instinctively as Domino’s legs start to rise beneath her, her balance slipping just enough for a flash of surprise to cut through her cocky glare. Her weight rocks forward, then back, her boots scraping for purchase on the mat.

“Don’t you dare—!”

The warning comes out sharp, her hands still locked under his chin as she tries to wrench him back down. But the lift keeps coming. Her hips jolt against his back as he hauls her higher, the camel clutch breaking its perfect alignment.

Her eyes widen.

“Put me down, you absolute—!”

And then—

WHAM!

The world flips as Domino drops backward, the impact slamming Rianne hard onto the canvas. Her body jolts, arms flying loose as the air explodes from her lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp.

“Hh—!”

She lies there stunned for a moment, chest heaving, limbs splayed, the crowd roaring at the sudden reversal as the pain ripples through her back and shoulders!